DungeonMart
by crushingsky
Summary: Hey kids! Ever wanted to be the hero? Ever wanted to be admired for once in your miserable lives? Ever wanted to get laid? There's one man in the realms that can make it all happen for you!


Dungeon Mart

Dungeon Mart

Chapter 1

The torch lit auditorium was packed with a menagerie of flesh and menace. In another place and time we would be rendering each other to meat for food, for profit, for the joy of it. There were so many flavors, textures, smells, it could be maddening. Musky, fur lined meat. Meat that was bare and supple. Meat that was covered in scales. And the tools available for rendering were so, so many here. Sometimes the ranks of our unwilling fraternity would break and the Boss would remind us of the cost of indulgence. It was him who had called this meeting and placed Undermountain on lockdown while we resolved this latest 'crisis'. We had been silent, waiting for him to break from his twitchy pacing on the stage below and force some new indignity upon us. We waited, caged and dulled, our stomachs sated with pork and chicken. Everything tasted like pork and chicken, the Boss said. Fuck.

He paused his pacing in mid-stride, seemingly in mid-thought. He was very theatrical like that. He always wore these tattered black robes when he wasn't shape changed. He never did anything with that stringy hair he had left. He thought he made an impression that way. Probably no one told him otherwise, but that was smart. When the Boss was around, Undermountain was called Happyland. If anyone had a problem with Happyland they got a 'happy meal'. Or shit work on Level 1 if they were lucky-like. _Here it comes_, we thought.

"Our public relations department reports an 85 decrease in traffic to Undermountain. This organization used to be synonymous with heroism, dark deeds, and mystery. Now, now one takes us seriously. What the fuck?"

Bugbear Section Chief, Uzbad, from Level 3, Quadrant 2 spoke up, "Maybe we're like, trying too hard. I mean, those posters we put up in the streets of Waterdeep… they make us look like, desperate, y'know?"

The Boss looked at him quizzically. He pointed at the giant poster on the wall behind him, his bug eyed head twitching on his vulture neck in irritation. It was a four color illustration of a gyrating, naked succubus with a severed head in one hand and a martini in the other. _Cum to Undermountain_, it said in bold provocative font. "What's the problem with it? Sex and violence sells. It's what the people want."

It was hard to reason with the Boss. He had started building this place with his own two hands centuries ago. He was a man with a dream, a dream of making a place in the realms where dreams do come true. A place where any miserable sot could pick up a sword and be a hero, and everyone would know that the Boss was the man that made it all possible. There used to be a statue of him in the city above, smiling beneficially and pointing the way to the main entrance of Undermountain, but the Lords of Waterdeep kept removing it.

"Bah!" the Boss exclaimed. "What say you quality control? What of the feedback from our patrons?"

Gerk, an Orc from the lower administration levels shuffled through papers. "It appears that in our efforts to serve so many we have had to make too many compromises in quality, Sir. We've had trou-"

"Eaaaaghhh!!" The Boss exclaimed. Holding his ears, "What have I told you lot about breaking character?"

"Ugh. Sorry, Boss. We've 'ad trouble like kidnappin enuff voigins for the patrons to rescue and we've 'ad to make substitutes. Most 'a time 'ey look and act like tha real thing but we've been 'earin complaints among the marks, like 'the milk be spoiled, pass it on' and such. 'An the marks been bitchin' there ain't enuff concession stands to spend their loot at. Says they shoulda stayed home an squeezed the sow's tits or somethin'else"

The boss began trembling, his pale face becoming paler. He collapsed on the floor and started his seizures. "I'm having another paroxysm!" he shrieked.

We all stayed silent and pretended not to notice him flopping around on the stage. It was really embarrassing when he did that.

"Do you see me, you assholes?!" he said, still flopping around, "Fucking look at what you're doing to me! Fucking look!"

Finally his seizures settled into shuddering sobs. He began crawling towards us, hands outstretched and begging, "I just wanted to be the best. The best dungeon master ever. What do I have to do?" He latched onto an Ogre in the front row pressed his snotty nose into his leg while he sobbed. The rest of us were just glad we weren't him.

"What do I have to do? I'm so sorry. Please, help me" He begged the Ogre.

"Oh… oh god, boss... I-" The Ogre puked on a drow sitting next him. The drow seemed more repelled by the boss than the jacket of pork and beans he was wearing. The boss looked at the drow as if seeing something for the first time. The boss reached to the drow's mouth and placed a thumb just below his lower lip.

"I know." Halaster Blackcloak spoke for the drow in a squeaky voice while moving his mouth. "What you need is product endorsement."


End file.
